


Remember That One Time, By the Fire?

by Defnotmeyo



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defnotmeyo/pseuds/Defnotmeyo
Summary: Mulder and Scully chillin' by the fire in early S5.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Remember That One Time, By the Fire?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the incredible msrafterdark and her newest colorized art, located here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846854/chapters/57310816 (NSFW)

“You’re treating me like I’m fragile.”

Her sentence broke the silence. During her illness, they’d taken to late night casefile studies in her living room; Mulder propped up against her sofa and Scully draped with a shawl or robe while she flipped through pages. As she got sicker, they’d migrated to her bedroom, his back against the foot of her bed and long legs out in a sprawl. 

“Mmm?” Mulder asked absently, socked foot and furry calf draped loosely around the leg of her coffee table, reading glasses low on his nose.

Since her return, they had migrated back into Scully’s living room for late nights, but the casual comfort had remained. 

“What the hell was up, back in Florida, Mulder?”He finally sat up a little straighter, pulled his glasses off. 

“What do you mean, what was up in Florida?”

“That Tailhook crap?”

Scully watched the lines of his neck, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. In the background, Miles Davis lent a little hectic energy with Giant Steps.

Mulder went indignant, quick, and shrugged a shoulder. “S’your rule, Scully. Not mine. Always has been.”

Ah, yes. 

The pre-cancer rules. 

Thou shalt not consort with thy partner… sort of. Thou shalt not consort on cases… except when thou’s partner had nightmares, couldn’t think through a profile, or had a nagging thought on an autopsy. Thou shalt most definitely not consort with said partner after such life-threatening circumstances to include gunshot wounds, broken limbs, brushes with alien viruses, or Arctic worms. 

Post cancer rules appeared to be different. Post cancer rules apparently said, thou shalt runneth from the hotel like a scared child whenst said partner comes knocking with wine and cheese. And proceedeth to get stalked by mothmen.

“I said I was ready to work, and I meant it,” she was indignant. “I don’t see why you’d treat me differently at the hotel than you did in the woods. I can still lay a man out at fifty yards.”

Truth be told, she could and had. And he hadn’t treated her differently once they were in the field. 

Trusted her to watch his back, especially with his shoulder torn to shreds.Trusted her to watch his back anyway, because Scully was the better shot.

Hell, technically they’d been on the clock at that point and she’d come on to him even when he was sick and injured. Her crack about sleeping bags went unchallenged but that was her fault. 

They didn’t talk about what they got up to once in a blue moon. 

Her rules.

“I’m gonna get out of here,” Mulder sighed, closing the file. “It’s late and we’re both-“

“I’m in remission.” Scully swung her legs up under her on the couch, her back straight, and here in this position they were just about eye level. “Mulder…” she cut off with a huff of a laugh. “Don’t you get it? We’re free.”

Mulder had been overwhelmingly glad Scully was healthy and whole. He probably would have ended five or six lives on Earth and then ended his own if she’d died. But they’d spent months of fear and sickness and hanging out with case files in her living room adding emotion to their one-off flings, and now that the emotion was there, he was fairly certain he was in love with her.

In his experience, Scully being free meant her fucking him and Ed Jerse in the span of a week. 

For Mulder, being free to love someone meant he’d die for them, even if he picked them up from the hospital after fucking a man named Ed.

To him, their stakes were not the same. Even if he was being unfair.

Hence. Running out of the hotel at the mention of wine and cheese. 

Regardless, at eye level with him now was a very, very hot redhead who he had particular feelings for, and she was wearing the same sweater he was pretty sure he-

“You were wearing this for him, weren’t you?”

“What?” 

The thing about Scully’s voice… she could drop sex-low at a moment’s notice.Miles had changed over to Coltrane from her CD player. 

D.C. had met fall early that year, and the fire in her Georgetown apartment was just big enough to fill the room. Overall, it felt more like winter than fall, and winter brought Mulder feelings, regardless of religion.

“For Eddie,” he murmured, snaking a finger along her neckline, and catching the golden glint of her cross.

She snorted and he cracked a sheepish grin. She moved to her knees on the couch, towered above him in unique perspective. “If you’d remember a thing correctly, you’d remember I thought Eddie was one Fox Mulder.”

“Mmm.” Fuck it. Coltrane, a colder day in late November than usual, Scully healthy and happy, and a fire. Mulder pulled her down by that necklace and met her in perhaps the softest kiss yet shared in their odd and oft tumultuous partnership.

Thouest shalt not consort on cases, but researching cases was alright, right? Her rules, and judging by her slipping her tongue against his, he assumed he was playing on the most up-to-date version. Coltrane had moved into blues from Lincoln Center, and Mulder used that soft grasp on her lips and necklace to pull her on down from the couch as he rolled his hips to pull her astride. 

He used his left knee to push the coffee table a little further away and stroked up her ribs, chuckling as she chuffed a ticklish giggle.

His heart was frenetic. They’d fucked before. Sure, they had. But this was starting to feel a lot like making love. 

Snow starting to come down outside, of course she had candles going right with the fireplace, and every instinct in Mulder’s body said run. But he had ran in Florida, just weeks ago, and look how that had ended up. His body in a ditch and them hunted, both of them damn near dead. Maybe it was time.

Her shirt was shucked, and Mulder, smooth fox that he was, managed to grab the clasp of her bra in the same go. Tight against his jeans, he got harder when she snaked his shirt off and trailed those nails of hers right up the ridges of his ribs. Another kiss and a soft bite on his lip and then she was down his body with a nip to his neck and settling in for a lick and bite on his nipple and pec.

Mulder was already hard enough to fuck her through their pants if that were possible. “Scully?” This would be a relationship-shift, as far as he was concerned. It was scary as all hell, but he hunted ghosts for a living. If they were going to do this-

“I can hear you thinking,” she moved back up to that mouth of his and gave his lip another tug. “Shut up, Mulder. I’m alive.”

He groaned and pitched his hips up against her again.

The night progressed quickly from there; jazz on her stereo, moving from lips to nipples to bellies, pants and boxers and panties shucked. Slick and wet, she ground against him and for minutes they stayed in that rhythm. She rode him without being seated, slicking him in torture until he couldn’t take it and on an up-thrust from her he snuck a hand down and buried his shaft in her belly with a sharp hiss from them both. 

She pitched forward, clapping down on his pec and he grabbed her by the hips.

“You’re alive,” he said, in a rare stroke of Mulder-confidence.

“Yes.”

“Prove it. Ride me, Scully.”

An “unf,” from Scully as she gripped his hips with her thighs. And she rode. 

Until the end of his days, Mulder would remember the sight of her that night, lit by firelight and backed by the sound of the blues, riding him there between her coffee table and sofa. 

“Prove it. Prove it, baby. Come on me.” He thrust up in her, knees splitting her wide. “C’mon. Come on me.”

And she did. She came all over him. And rode him until the evidence of their love was dripping down around his cock as he pulled her down on top of him, sweaty and breathless. Scully roped her arms around his neck, nuzzled her nose down in the hollow of his collar bone. 

Mulder counted his lucky stars he was able to maintain himself enough to stay in her. God bless a little bit of soft size.

“You’re alive.”

Her chuckle drove him mad. He could feel it down to his dick, that little laugh of hers clamping her around him. 

“Nice observation,” she mentioned, lazily. “At least I won’t worry about having to kick you out of the morgue, no love for the dead.”

“Ha, pathologist humor,” he flexed in her once and smiled at her short grunt of appreciation. 

“Mulder…”

He groaned, knew a break-up speech when he heard one start. 

“Uh oh,” he sighed. “S’alright. Rule one. Thouest shalt not fuck thy partner.”

“It’s not-"

“No, no… I know.” 

And he did. 

They had a lot of things left to do. A lot a lot a lot. 

At this point, he’d shrunk down and slipped out.

They both hissed at the sensitivity and the loss.

Coltrane continued on.

She laid a kiss between his Adam’s apple and those tendons on his neck. 

Mulder sometimes felt like she evaluated him medically, she’d know the name of every part of his anatomy… but she still had sex with him so she must have found him to be a worthy specimen. He tugged her tighter to him as they cooled down. 

Even still, his guts churned a little as he worked up the question. “Hey, uh… I-I know your Mom’s gonna be out of town for Christmas so do you… m-maybe want to spend it-“

“No.” She cut him off quick and leaned back on his hips, patted his cheek before she stood and started gathering her clothes. 

Mulder sighed. The night was obviously over. 

“No, I uh. I’m headed to San Diego for Christmas this year, with her. Bill, he uh-"

Mulder pulled on his boxers and pants and cut her off. “I get it, Scully.” Shrugged on his tee-shirt.

“Mulder, I-"

He cut her off by walking over to her, shutting her up with a kiss. “I get it. They’re family. You’re alive. Go be with your Mom. Go see your big brother for Christmas.” His smile was genuine. 

“This-" he gestured around her living room, “this will all be here when you get back. And we’ll figure it out. We don’t need a partnership symposium.”

Scully smiled at him, blindingly, as she ran a hand through her hair, bolstered. “No need for a tower of furniture when you have mothmen.”

Mulder grinned right back, sheepish and in love.

She flew to San Diego. 

He was sure, in that moment, with a soft kiss at the airport, that it would all be okay.

San Diego happened. And they wouldn’t be okay again.


End file.
